


First Date Drama

by Proudmoore (firemedicdiaz)



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/M, First Date, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Reader Insert, TLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:07:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28824948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firemedicdiaz/pseuds/Proudmoore
Summary: You've had your fair share of bad first dates, but this one might just take the cake.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42
Collections: 9-1-1 Tales





	First Date Drama

You hum quietly to yourself as you step into the shower, closing your eyes as the water hits your face and runs in rivulets down your body. There’s an ache in your thighs that reminds you acutely of the preceding night’s pleasures and you bite your lip as your hand drifts downward, caressing your overstimulated core. When you’d tumbled into bed with Buck the night before, it had been under the impression that the two of you would have a one night stand and part before either of you could catch feelings. Now, though, basking in the echoes and memories of the amazing sex you’d had, you hope against hope that he’s open to seeing you again.

Closing your eyes, you let the water run over your skin for a while, loosening up your tired muscles until you’re limber enough to get to work actually cleaning up. Reaching for the shaving cream, you uncap it and squeeze a generous amount into your palm, setting the canister aside before propping your leg up on the side of the tub. You rub your hands together, lathering the gel before coating your skin from ankle to knee in an even layer.

Retrieving your razor, you uncap it and get to work shaving, finishing one leg uneventfully. You repeat the process with the other side, lathering it up before gliding the razor along your skin in smooth strokes. This time, though, there’s a catch. A small bump on the inside of your calf snags the razor and you curse quietly as you feel the biting sting of the blades sinking into your skin, shaving cream running into the freshly opened wound and making it burn.

“Damn it,” you hiss, abandoning the razor on the side of the tub as you turn to rinse your leg.

The shaving cream suds are washed away in thick clumps and a wellspring of crimson follows, filling the bottom of the tub in moments. You whimper as your stomach clenches, nausea gripping you as you watch the blood run. You want to lean in and inspect the damage but you already feel dizzy and you don’t want to risk overbalancing. Instead, you grit your teeth and drag in a breath, glancing away as you let the water run over the wound.

“No, no, no,” you mutter, considering your next move.

You pull the shower curtain back, glancing around the bathroom, cursing again. The first aid kit that usually lives under your sink is still in the basement where you’d left it after your last DIY project had seen you catch a sliver deep in your palm. You’ve got enough towels to keep a small army dry, but none that are practical for keeping pressure on your lower leg while you waddle awkwardly downstairs to fetch the kit. You’ve got tissues, too, but considering the amount of blood that you can feel still pouring from the wound alongside the water, you don’t want to risk bits of paper getting stuck in your skin.

A knock on the bathroom door gets your attention and you instinctively turn your head towards it, startled.

“You okay in there?” Buck asks from the bedroom beyond.

“I’m fine!” You reply, your voice reedy even to your own ears.

“I heard a few curse words that say otherwise.”

You huff indignantly.

“It’s nothing,” you insist. “I just nicked myself shaving.”

Buck isn’t convinced.

“I’m coming in,” he warns, giving you a moment to draw the shower curtain again before he opens the door.

“Honestly, I’m fine,” you say, feeling your face heat in embarrassment at your predicament.

“In my experience, the ones who try the hardest to convince you that they’re fine are the ones who need help the most,” he says sagely.

His shadow looms on the other side of the shower curtain and your heart skips uneasily at the thought of him seeing you so vulnerable. You press the shower curtain to the tiled wall with your palm, preventing him from being able to pull it back.

“It’s stupid,” you say with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s already stopped bleeding.”

“Let me see,” Buck coaxes.

You shake your head a moment before remembering that he can’t see you through the curtain.

“I’m naked,” you argue.

Buck chuckles.

“You didn’t seem to have an issue with that when I undressed you last night,” he teases gently.

“That was different,” you say flatly.

“I’m a firefighter, I see people naked more often than you’d think,” he reasons.

“Not better.”

You can practically feel him rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he encourages, his voice softening. “I just want to help.”

You debate on what to do for another few seconds before finally relenting. Letting go of the curtain, you slide it back just enough to let Buck know he’s free to look. He reaches over a moment later, pulling the curtain aside the rest of the way and glancing down at the pool of red water beneath your feet. 

His trained senses take the scene in immediately and you watch as he springs into action. He reaches for the nearest towel, turning off the shower with his free hand as he moves to press the fabric to your wound to staunch the blood flow. He presses it firmly into place and you yelp at the sharp sting on contact.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Buck asks.

“In the basement,” you reply.

“Can you hold this on here while I go get it?”

You nod and bend down, taking over holding the towel and putting pressure on the wound. Wanting to avoid looking at it in fear of catching sight of any blood, you watch Buck hurry out of the bathroom and then set your focus on counting tiles in the trim around the sink.

Buck returns a couple of minutes later and comes back to your side, resting a hand on your back. You shiver as a chill grips you, the ambient air sapping your body heat as the droplets of water on your skin start to evaporate away.

“I’m going to carry you out of here,” he explains. “But you’re going to have to let go of the towel for a second.”

You nod shakily and let go, instead pressing your calves together to keep the towel in place as you straighten up. You avoid Buck’s gaze and yelp a little in surprise as he sweeps you up into his arms. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and cling on tightly as he makes his way out of the bathroom. You can feel the blood from your wound beginning to soak the towel with less pressure on it and you bite back a groan, burying your face in his neck as he heads for your bed.

“I’m going to set you down,” Buck says softly.

You nod, hesitating on letting go of him for a moment as he leans down and lays you on a couple of towels. Eventually, you reluctantly disentangle yourself from him and lie back, throwing an arm across your eyes in an attempt to hide your embarrassment at your predicament. Thankfully, Buck has your modesty in mind and you relax a little bit as you feel him pull another towel over your body. 

The relaxation is fleeting as you feel his hands around your calf a few seconds later, pressing the towel firmly into place over your wound. You hiss in pain as the pressure burns, the terry cloth biting into your skin. The warm, slightly sticky feeling of the bloodied towel against your leg makes your stomach churn uncomfortably and you take a slow, deep breath in an attempt to quell the nausea.

“How’re you doing?” Buck asks a moment later.

You can feel his concerned gaze on you and you squirm a little.

“Uh, okay I think,” you say weakly. “I’m just not good with blood, especially my own.”

“Just keep those pretty eyes covered and you won’t have anything to worry about,” Buck says softly. “I’ve got you.”

You nod and keep your gaze averted as Buck shifts his grip, taking over holding pressure on your wound with just one hand. With his free hand, you can hear him shuffling through your first aid kit and tearing open a package. You quickly realize he’s pulled out some dressing materials as he releases the pressure on your calf, peeling the bloodied towel away and replacing it with fresh, clean gauze. It stings fiercely and you bite your lip to keep from whining in discomfort.

Buck shuffles around a bit, letting go of your leg entirely for a moment while he opens a few more packages of supplies and sets them aside to use as needed. The pressure returns within moments, though, and you sigh softly as the minutes tick by with Buck gripping firmly to stop the bleeding.

“Alright, let’s see where we’re at,” Buck says softly a few minutes later, breaking the silence.

You hiss a little as he carefully peels the gauze back, exposing the cut to the air and making it burn. You feel a little queasy as you anticipate the trickle of blood, but after a few uneventful moments, you slowly open your eyes and look cautiously toward your leg. There’s not major bleeding in sight anymore, but the large, raw swath of angry, exposed sinew you’ve torn open with your razor looks like something out of a horror movie and you quickly shut your eyes again, trying desperately to banish the visual from your mind.

“Does it need stitches?” You ask warily, breathing slowly to try and calm your racing heart.

“Nah, there’s nothing to stitch. It’s too wide a cut and you left the overlying skin flap tangled up in your razor, so there’s nothing left to do but dress it and let it heal.”

The thought of a piece of tissue hanging from the shaver you’d been using in the shower almost makes you gag and you groan in disgust. Buck pats your uninjured shin reassuringly and reaches for a clean piece of gauze and a tube of antibiotic ointment.

You chew your lip as he works, his gentle hands helping you relax into his ministrations after a few moments. Eventually you open your eyes again, blinking in the morning light filtering in through your curtains. You turn your gaze down, watching Buck work, smiling at the crease in his forehead as he concentrates on expertly wrapping your injured leg.

“Some first date, huh?” You quip eventually, the silence becoming a bit much.

Buck chuckles, shaking his head before flashing you a friendly smile.

“This doesn’t even crack the top ten worst first dates I’ve had,” he assures you.

You raise an eyebrow, propping yourself on your elbows as he finishes puting the last bits of tape on the dressing he’s applied. He glances over at you as he sets your leg down, noticing your expression.

“What? It’s true,” he asserts. “One time, I took a woman to a fancy restaurant on Valentine’s Day for our first real date. An hour later I was in surgery. The doctors had to close a hole in my throat after a steak knife tracheotomy my date had to perform because I choked on some bread so badly the Heimlich wouldn’t cut it.”

Your mouth drops open in surprise and you gape at him.

“No way.”

“I swear to God,” Buck says, holding up his hands. “And if it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t a relationship-ender.”

Your heart skips again, but this time for an entirely different reason. Buck’s kind eyes and easy, infectious smile make your knees weak and you’re glad for the support of the bed, even if you’re not in the most dignified position. You giggle a little bit hysterically and hope that he doesn’t notice your sudden nervousness.

“Is that your way of saying you’d like to see me again?” You ask coyly.

“I would love to see you again,” Buck says with a playful grin.

He holds out a hand and you take it, allowing him to pull you up. You swivel, taking your legs from his lap and letting them swing over the side of the bed so you can get closer to him. The towel covering you slips, folding around your waist and exposing you to his suddenly hungry gaze. This time, though, the awkwardness is long forgotten.

You close your eyes as Buck leans in, pressing his lips to yours. You moan softly into the kiss, leaning closer, shifting so you can wrap an arm around his waist. He returns the favor, embracing you and pulling you into his lap, dislodging the discarded packets of first aid supplies.

As they flutter to the floor, crinkling as they twist and unfurl in the air, your injury is all but forgotten. Buck’s hands on your skin, your bodies shifting against one another as you fall back into bed for another round of lovemaking, replace the uncomfortable memories with something far more pleasant and in-the-moment. Even the sting of your injury is a distant echo as Buck rolls you over, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his touch driving all but the feelings of friction between your bodies from your mind.

As Buck’s kisses move from your lips to the curve of your jaw, slowly descending down your neck in a slow, teasing trail, you can’t help but think that maybe this hasn’t been the worst first date after all.


End file.
